


My Friend The Misanthropist

by stale_fry



Series: Fry's South Park [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Anyways, Character Study, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak - Freeform, Enjoy the story, Gen, Kinda, Pre-Slash, Short & Sweet, Tutoring, Tweek's POV, and this is me figuring out how tweek and craig met in this kinda-au, craig is a 6'10" music man, has shippy undertones but its, heights are a bit exaggerated/ridiculous ik, im a tag rambler, ive created this whole charcter-instead-of-comedy focused au for sp, most other stories in this au series will take place during that time, or when they're adults, thats on purpose, the heights mentioned earlier will be their high school heights btw, theyre both a bit odd in the head, tweek is a 4'11" poet/writer, uhhh, very short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 02:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16379717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stale_fry/pseuds/stale_fry
Summary: In 8th grade, the infamous Craig Tucker and the unknown, bad-at-math Tweek Tweak must sit down and work together for the first time as a part of the former's punishment for starting another fight. They both come in with expectations and are both proved wrong."There was a punishment pushed and a meeting was forced. There was no friendship to be found then. There was to be found, however, a glimpse into an impenetrable mind."





	My Friend The Misanthropist

 

Iron blood and dented skin, territorial teenagers with apathy in the driver’s seat and stains blotting their brains. A sap of uncaring poured from his dead, browning plant eyes. Craig Tucker, a giant amongst his peers with his head nearly touching the sky’s rim, was to be feared.

 

    There was a punishment pushed and a meeting was forced in order to stop a  repetition of violence, a violent insanity. There was no friendship to be found then. There was to be found, however, a glimpse into an impenetrable mind. On his shelf of personality, next to the violence, was a curious intelligence. He was a solver of mathematical riddles and a lover of solutions. He was ordered to help me solve my problems. With broken words and a quiet disrespect hiding under his tongue and filling his eyes, he complied.

In the library, with its screaming fluorescent lights, I sat shivering and shaking with a broken record in my mouth.

 

    ‘Perhaps that disrespect soaking his tongue wasn’t meant for me,’ I would later think. Not once had Craig sprayed its venom at me, and not once had he sunk his claws into my neck. It was a font of calm for me, not often found in other people. Other people liked to gawk at me like I was drooling gibberish. His pencil, held between blistered and calloused fingers, scratched the paper, writing out formulas and equations that swam before my eyes. Rain beat down on the metal roof of my parents café like a drummer on his kit, and steam danced up to the ceiling from the untouched cup of black tea I gave to him.

    “You’re alright, Tweek,” he said in his voice, dark and flat, like a shadow. He spoke shortly and simply, words almost slurred together.

    “H-huh?”

    “You’re okay. Y’ don’t bother me. S’ much as others, anyway.”

    “Uh, um…” my brain was tripping over itself trying to find words. “Thank you.” I was in disbelief; he couldn’t possibly have meant it. I knew that people never meant that when they said it to me. I knew that being my friend was just a funny joke to the carnivorous harpies pretending to be sympathetic to the town nutcase. I sunk into the padded booth chair.

    “Sit with me. At lunch,” he commanded softly. I became a deer about to be run over then, looking at him with coffee cup eyes as big as the moon.

    “Okay.”

    He turned back to scratching at the paper with a wood-cased piece of graphite, the cold light from a wide window near us dying his abyssal black hair an icy blue. I thought that, maybe, we could be friends.

 

...

 

 


End file.
